When the Voice is Quiet
by Karin1
Summary: The death of a loved one leaves a great void behind in the lives of two people. How will they cope with the loss? *character death*
1. My mother

**Disclaimer**: 'CSI' and its characters are the property of CBS and Alliance/Alantis Networks, produced by Jerry Bruckheimer. I'm writing this story for entertainment purpose only. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's note: **This story is very dear to me. I hope it isn't too depressing, but I do advise you to keep your tissues within reach. Enjoy!

English is not my native language. If you find an annoying writing error in this story, please email me (instead of mentioning it in a review) and I will correct it immediately.

* * *

**When the Voice is Quiet**

By Karin

* * *

A black bird hops on the pile of dirt. It is looking for food in the turned up soil. It likes it here. There are hardly any humans, and the silence makes a welcome change to the commotion of the never sleeping city Las Vegas.

Just when it's about to start its dinner, it hears footsteps approaching on the shingle. The raven is in doubt. It wants to stay here, but it's afraid. Its instinct immediately takes over, telling it that humans aren't to be trusted. Even if the person in question is just a cute little girl. With loud flapping of its wings, the bird flees the scene.

* * *

The girl startles when a raven flies up. Unconsciously she takes a step back, afraid of the big bird. She's small for her age. She's nine and a half years old, but she looks not older than eight. She has sleek, dark hair that falls on her shoulders and big dark eyes in a pretty, doll-like face.

She turns up the collar of her red coat. It's cold and late, almost dinnertime. She's the only one on the graveyard. Most people have gone home to prepare dinner or rest after a long day of work. She has come straight from school, later than expected.

The setting sun will soon make place for the full moon. Big trees that surround the graveyard cast large, dark shadows on the graves. She shivers. Something in the whole ambiance of this place makes her feel uncomfortable. She gets the childish feeling that the trees are watching her, ready to grab her and pull her inside where no one will ever find her.

She jumps when she hears the creaking sound of dead branches. A squirrel dashes past her feet. She chuckles softly about her own paranoia, about her lively imagination. Nevertheless she can't stop peering around, and her pace quickens. She has memorized the way. Left, straight ahead, then right. Until she stands face to face with a small tombstone.

She takes off her backpack and places it on the ground. She doesn't care that the grass is wet due to the last downpour, nor that it can run on her cute yellow skirt. Even the muddy ground doesn't bother her. Without thinking twice she flops down next to the grave.

Sitting cross-legged she looks at the gravestone. It's beautiful, made of white marble. The letters of her mother's name have been engraved with the outmost precision. She traces the letters, feeling the cold stone under her fingertips. A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth.

"Hi mom," she says calmly. Her eyes don't betray any feelings; her face is blank. "I've taken along some wild flowers. I know how much you love them."

She thoroughly removes the other flowers. They are withered, not worthy to lie here and decorate her mother's grave. A frown appears on her face when she finds a single red rose between the withered flowers. It's still fresh. She wonders what it's doing there, who has put it there. It's a beautiful rose, apparently placed by someone who cared a lot about her mother. Maybe one of her mother's friends…

With a shrug she puts the rose straight, and then arranges her own bouquet of wild flowers with their buds to the stone. She also brushes away the leaves that have covered the grave. She then nods her approval. Now everything is neat again. She likes it when things are arranged.

Her fingers linger tenderly on the grave. It's almost as if she can feel her mother's warmth, her mother's presence. A confusing and uncomfortable feeling wells up in her as the thought of her mother lying underneath her creeps into her mind. It disturbs her and immediately she pulls back her hands. As if she burned her fingers.

She does not want to think of her mother lying there. She does not want to think of her mother at all in that matter. She tries to shake off the disturbing thoughts, and quickly puts her mind on something else. School. That's a safe subject.

"I have a surprise for you, mom."

She takes a piece of paper out of her schoolbag. It's crawled in a childlike handwriting. It's almost unreadable, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is the A+ on the right top of the paper and the note saying: 'Excellent.'

She holds up the paper in front of the gravestone as if she thinks her mother can see it that way. "Look mom, an A+. The teacher says it's the best essay she has ever read." Her face is beaming with pride and her voice can't hide the satisfaction. "She wants to make a copy of it, so she can use it as an example for everyone else. Even for the other classes. Good, huh."

After holding it up for just a few seconds longer, she smoothes the paper, folds it up and puts it back in her schoolbag. "The teacher didn't even make a remark about that picture I glued upside down. I thought she would, but she didn't. You were right. I…"

The last words die on her lips and slowly the smile disappears from her face as a sudden, vivid memory of her mother and her filters through her muddled mind.

* * *

_They're sitting at the table, cutting out pictures and sticking them to the essay. She sharply holds her breath as she realizes that she has glued the picture upside down. Tears of shock and annoyance appear in her eyes._

_Her mother laughs. But when she sees the tears that glisten in her daughter's eyes, she quickly throws an arm around her and pulls her closer. "It's okay, honey. Just a small mistake, nothing to worry about. Your teacher won't even notice." Her mother kisses her forehead. "You're my darling. Never forget that." _

* * *

The warm voice of her mother sends a stab of pain through her entire body. A sorrow, so real and intense that she gasps for breath, settles in her stomach. Sudden tears burn in her throat. She fights to control herself, because she doesn't want to cry. She needs to be strong, to be a strong girl, and strong girls don't cry. She has come an end, she's not about to start now.

She tries so hard, swallowing the tears and the lump in her throat. She has not cried since that terrible accident. Eleven days already. Almost two whole weeks without shedding a single tear. She managed by suppressing every thought, every image of her mother and her together. Especially the images of the day her mother…

She shakes her head. She can't put her mind to say that word. She's not ready to deal with the truth. It was wrong of her to come here, because by sitting here staring at her mother's gravestone, every memory comes back to haunt her, to be experienced all over again.

Despite her desperate attempts to block them, the horrible images flash before her eyes.

* * *

_Her mother lying in the corridor, a gunshot wound to her chest. Blood is pouring out of the wound, soaking her mother's shirt, forming a pile on the ground. Her eyes, wide open of terror and pain. The colorless lips forming a name. Her name. And the hand with which she tries to pull her daughter closer. The hand, covered with blood, that falls down before it can reach her as the life leaves her mother's body. _

_The despair she feels as she sits next to her mother, holding her cold hand and talking to her as if nothing has happened. _

_The paramedics pulling her away from the scene, their hands trying to save her mother's life. But it is too late. There's nothing they can do for her. She could have told them that. _

_The look in the paramedic's eyes as he looks up to the police woman holding her. And the arm that's being wrapped around her, together with the woman's compassionate voice: "Poor child."_

* * *

All of the painful memories hit her hard. She squeezes her eyes. "No, I don't want to remember," she moans. She folds her arms around her knees and franticly rocks herself back and forth. "Please, don't make me remember."

* * *

_Blood on her clothes, on her hands. Her mother's bottomless eyes, staring past her. A hand on her shoulder guiding her to a chair, where she waits and waits. Minutes go by, soon followed by hours. She doesn't speak. She doesn't move. She's just sitting there like a statue; her hands are clutched together in her lap. _

_A gasp of terror behind her. A man saying: 'No. Please, no.' She knows the voice, but she doesn't react. The man kneels down next to her mother's body, taking her hand. Shock is displayed on his face. He looks so tired, so old suddenly. She doesn't know him anymore. This is not her father. And that is not her mother._

* * *

She tries to push the memories back, but no matter how hard she tries, her efforts only bring them back full force.

* * *

_The funeral. The sky clears up after days of clouds, and a watery sun casts a warm glow over the people standing around the grave. She knows most of them. Her mother does not have many acquaintances, only a few good friends. _

_The casket being lowered into the ground. The tears in her father's eyes, the sobbing behind her. She doesn't cry. The tears won't come. With dry and hollow eyes she stares at the grave, while everyone else gives his grief free rein. She can't help but feel guilty, as if by not crying she's betraying her mother. But she can't cry. The pain is there, the sorrow as well, but she's so afraid of showing it. She can't. She just can't. _

* * *

Everything she wanted to forget, every horrendous memory… They all flash before her eyes. Suddenly she is overwhelmed with emotions. The same emotions she bottled up so well. It was easier to hold them back than to give in to them.

A tide of panic surges through her, her heart is racing and shivers run down her spine. Her hand moves up to her mouth, trying to hold back a scream, but the sorrow is stronger than she is and so she opens her mouth.

"NOOOOO!"

Her heartrending scream pierces the stillness of the graveyard. Birds fly up, startled and frightened by the despair in her voice. Squirrels shoot into the trees and a single stray cat runs away as fast as it can.

Then everything falls silent. The birds stop twittering. The wind drops. Leaves that have been lifted by the wind, played with, fall down on the ground. They lie still, just as still as everyone here.

Dark clouds pass over. The weather perfectly suits to her mood, but she doesn't notice any of it. Her thoughts are with the terror of the past week.

"This isn't true." She shakes her head violently, trying to dismiss the idea. Her cheeks are wet of tears, but she doesn't seem to notice, as if she doesn't realize that the tears have begun to flow. "This can't be true. My mother can't be dead. Please, I don't want her to be dead."

After suppressing every memory deep in her mind, after the denial of the past couple of days she finally has to acknowledge the truth. Seeing her mother's name engraved in the stone and realizing that she's really buried underneath her, she can't deny it any longer. Her mother is really gone. She died exactly eleven days ago, leaving her little girl all alone. Nothing will bring her back.

The truth is hard, very hard. A sickening feeling overtakes her, and she feels like throwing up. She doesn't know what to do with the feelings raging on inside of her. They are tearing her apart, fighting to get the upper hand. Sorrow, despair, anger… Feelings she never felt before, but are now so intense that they threaten to overwhelm her, threaten to draw her into a whirlpool of emotion.

"No! No! NO!"

She raises her head, fixating her gaze on a point in the sky. Her eyes are two depths of misery and pain. "Why did you have to take my mother! Why?!" Desperate tears are streaming down her face. "She had done nothing wrong! Why didn't you take someone else? Anyone."

The words gush from her lips. She knows in her heart that she's being selfish and unfair. She would never do to anyone what was done to her, never make someone feel what she is feeling right now, but the pain is too strong. It's talking for her.

"Why did you have to take her?" she yells. More tears follow. After all these days she finally gives into the pain. It's so violent that she feels like she's choking, but it clears the way for the unrestricted utterance of her distress.

"I want my mother to comb my hair. I want my mother to tell her stories about her work. I want to hear her laugh. I want to hug her, tell her that I love her!"

She takes a handful of soil and raises her arm, holding it up to the sky. "All I have left is this! Dirt!" She tosses it away. "I don't want this. I want my mother back! Bring my mother back! Please, bring her back. I will do anything. Just bring her back." She starts to cry heartbreakingly. 'Bring my mother back!"

She buries her face in her hands, and waits. She waits for a sign that will tell her everything is going be all right. However, there are no answers, no explanations or solutions. Absolutely nothing. Only a depressing silence surrounds her.

Then, as if someone pulled a switch, she heatedly brushes away her tears, leaving dirty muddy streaks on her cheeks. She looks up again. This time her face is contorted with rage. Anger has taken over the sorrow. It's much easier to deal with anger than the feeling that is eating away her soul. This one she can control, use to fight off the pain and despair she's feeling.

"I say my prayers every night. I prayed to you to keep everyone save. Why didn't you? Why do you have to be so mean? You're not good. You're bad. You're evil." Her eyes are flashing when she screams violently: "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I HATE YOU!!"

Uncontrolled, in a blind fury she tosses her schoolbag away. Books and notebooks fall on the muddy ground. Pencils and pens roll over the grass. She doesn't care. Nothing matters anymore. But then she sees her essay lying in the mud. Raindrops have made the ink run, making it unreadable. A big stain of mud has covered the place on which the A+ was written. She stares at the sheet on the ground. She was so proud of that essay. The one that her mother and her made together.

While sobs well up in her throat, she picks up the paper. Tears fall on it, mingling with the raindrops, making the ink run even more. She tries to wipe away the mud, but the harder she tries, the worse the paper gets. It's of no use. She can throw the essay away.

"I'm sorry, mommy. I'm so sorry." She holds the sheet close to her chest. An overpowering feeling of guilt and regret clearly shines in her dark eyes. And immediately the sorrow returns, twice as hard. She drops on her knees. Her fists are clenched; her eyes are burning. Tears rage on, blinding her vision.

"Mommy?" Her voice breaks of emotion. "Mommy, I need you. Please come back. I love you. I love you so much."

Pressing her small body to the ground, she embraces the grave. "I want my mommy back."

The earth smothers her sobs, but her small shoulders heave as they wrack her body. She cries for everything she has lost. Her mother, her dearest friend, the safety of her childhood. Nothing can ever bring that back. Her mother is gone. She is alone now.

When the tears are finally spent, she huddles up, tucking up her knees and throwing her arms around them. That's how she stays there. Her cheek against the cold stone, offering coolness for her flushed face. The crying has exhausted her. She closes her eyes...

* * *

**To Be Continued…**

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I hope you liked this story. Please write a review to let me know what you think of it and if you would like to read the next part. Thank you! - Karin -


	2. My wife

Again, English is not my native/first language. If you find an annoying writing error in this story, please email me (instead of mentioning it in a review) and I will correct it immediately.

**Author's note:** Thank you all so much for the positive feedback! It means a lot to me. Now for part 2…

* * *

**When the Voice is Quiet**

By Karin

* * *

The man stares absent-mindedly over the graveyard. He has buried his hands deep in the pockets of his black coat. He is all dressed in black. Appropriate for these surroundings, but particularly appropriate for his mood.

His back is slightly bowed as if he has a heavy burden to carry on his shoulders. Sharp lines mark his weary face. And his eyes… They're the eyes of a man who has gone through a lot, who has seen too much misery in his life. He can hide it well, not letting his emotion show on his face, but if you look closely you can see the immense sorrow in the depths of his blue eyes.

He looks like he hasn't slept well in days. The dark bags under his eyes confirm that and it is true. Every night he wakes up, bathing in sweat.

* * *

_His eyes snap open and he sits up in his bed, her name on his lips. Cold sweat is pouring down his back and his body trembles from the confusion of his nightmare. _

_His hand automatically reaches for the other side of the bed, expecting to find her lying next to him. He wants to touch her warm back, bury his face in her soft hair and breathe in her sweet scent. But when he lays down his hand, it only touches the cold fabric of the sheets. There's no one lying next to him. She's not there; he's alone. He pulls back his hand and clasps it against his chest, breathing deeply in an attempt to slow down the irregular and escalated beating of his heart. _

_Then he looks up. His gaze desperately wanders about his bedroom until it locks onto the door. Although his mind tries to reason with him, his heart is telling him a different story. He's waiting for her to show up, to tell him that she couldn't sleep and went downstairs to make her a cup of warm milk. And to slip under the sheets again, so that he can warm her cold body with his. _

_The hope in his eyes fades as he realizes that she will not appear in the doorstep ever again. Slowly he lets out the air he's unconsciously been holding and painfully closes his eyes. His face is contorted with sadness. _

* * *

These moments are the hardest to get used to. Not having her in his bed anymore, never feeling her warm skin to his. He will never hear her laughter, never see the sparkle in her eyes and never hear her say: 'I love you.'

The thought that he will never get that back is what hurts him the most. It has taken him a long time to deal with that pain. At first, the first couple of days after her death, he walked around in a daze. He went about in his daily routine, and immediately set to work again. Although everyone advised him to take a few days off, to take some time for himself and his daughter, he couldn't. His work offered him the distraction he needed, and as usual he suppressed everything. He did not want to feel anything. It was easier that way than having to deal with the feelings that her loss brought about in him. It hurt too much.

And it still hurts. Her death has left a void in him. He feels incomplete without her, hollow even. There were times that the feeling was so strong that he even thought he was just as dead as she was, but coming here to her grave has helped him in accepting the inevitable.

* * *

_For the first time since the funeral he stands there, staring at the letters that form her name. The name of the woman he loves so dearly. His fingers trace the outline of the words etched in the stone before him. _

_He knows that she's lying there, only a couple of meters underneath him. He knows that she is never coming back, that the chapter of that part of his life has been written and the book closed. He knows all that, but he doesn't feel anything. No anger, no sorrow, no pain… Absolutely nothing. Because it doesn't mean anything. The gravestone, the turned up soil, the casket under the ground… They mean nothing, because they aren't who she is. This isn't her. Not the way he loves her, not the way he remembers her. Her body may be lying here, but not her spirit. Her spirit is everywhere; no one can ever bury that part of her. _

_He can still feel her. Her presence is still in the house, at work, and everywhere he goes. She lives on inside of him, demanding a special place in his heart and keeping the memories alive. The memory of a life together is the most precious legacy she has left behind for him, for them._

_With the outmost respect for her, for all she meant to him, he lays down a single red rose on her grave. He opens his mouth to say those final words, but then he turns around and walks away. _

* * *

Right then and there the sinking feeling made place for resignation. She is gone forever, and nothing he can say or do will change that. It's hard, especially since there ís still so much he wants to tell her, so much he wants to do. He wants to say 'I love you' one more time, being afraid that maybe – because of his reticence and his inability to express his feelings well – she didn't know how much he loved her, how much he still loves her. He wants to hold her close to him, touch her face and commit every curve of her body, every line in her face to memory.

But he's too late, and now he has to let go. He has gone through all of the phases of the dealing process: unbelief, anger, sorrow and finally acceptance. He has dealt with her loss. He had to, if not for him than certainly for his daughter.

'My little girl.'

His heart wrenches when the memories of the day his wife died come flooding back. They called him at work. He was working on a complex murder case when his phone rang. It was the police.

* * *

_'We are sorry to inform you that your wife…'_

_They don't need to say more. He already knows. Shock, unbelief and confusion take turns as he sits there, listening to the engaged signal. He shakes his head bewilderedly, trying to dismiss everything the police just told him. His mind is cloudy, unable to grasp what is happening. Then, slowly as in a daze he puts down the receiver and grasps his coat. _

_As he steps into the hallway, he starts to walk faster. He hears voices behind him. Familiar voices, asking him where he's going, but he doesn't answer them. A woman calls after him. 'Is everything all right?' But he can't react. _

_And when he sees her lying in the passageway of the supermarket he knows that everything is far from all right. Nothing will be the same anymore; everything has changed. The life as he knows it does no longer exist. A lump forms in his throat and his stomach contracts. He drops down on his knees next to her and takes her hand in his. It's so cold, so lifeless. Not her hand anymore. _

_'No, please no.'_

_His own hand travels up to her face and tenderly caresses her cheek. Her eyes are closed. He regrets that he can't look into her beautiful brown eyes one last time. He mutters her name softly, almost afraid of saying it. He wants to scream and yell, anything to make her open her eyes again, but all he does is whisper. Even now he withdraws into his own emotion. Instead of giving into his grief and pain, he denies it, he locks it up. _

_From the outside he looks totally in control. His face is blank, his back is straight and his eyes sharp. But it's only a disguise, only an attempt to hide his feelings from the rest of the world. Because from the inside he feels like he's falling apart. At that moment, at that place a part of him dies with her. He's cold, as cold as a person can be, just as cold as she is going to be. And he's numb. His whole body feels numb. His arms, his legs, but mostly his heart._

_Everything has been taken away from him, taken out of his hands. There's nothing he can do anymore, nothing to save her life, nothing to keep her with him. He's powerless. It's the worst feeling he has ever felt before in his life. _

_He sits there for what seems like hours, just staring at her face. Although he pays no attention to the commotion around him, he knows what they're doing: collecting evidence of the shooting and talking to any eyewitnesses. The investigators cast uncertain looks at him. They're not sure what to do with him. He does not show any intention of leaving, and his presence at the crime scene stands in the way of their investigation. But no one dares to come up to him and tell him to leave. They won't, because they can understand his pain and they can relate to his sorrow._

_He does not want to leave, because if he does it will mean a farewell. These are the last moments given to him to be with her. He's been taken the chance to properly take leave of her. This is only a poor substitute, but it's all he has. He presses his lips against her cold fingers. The same fingers she touched his face with that morning. Her touch was so tenderly, so full of love. _

_"Mr.?" The soft, hesitant voice of a policewoman. He doesn't react; he doesn't even hear her. He can't think of anything else than the woman who's lying on the ground in front of him. The policewoman clears her throat and asks again: "Mr.? Your daughter…"_

_Slowly her words get through to him. The fog in his mind is lifting; it starts to clear up again and the meaning of her words hit him hard. "My daughter?" An anxious foreboding surges through him as he realizes what that means. 'God, what has she seen?'_

_He tears his gaze from his wife and looks up, searching for the one person he did not expect here, the one person who shouldn't be here. There she is, sitting on a chair. Her eyes are downcast, her hands clutched. She is the one who makes him let go of his wife's hand, who forces him to say goodbye. Reality changes. What was important only a few minutes ago, his life and what was taken from him, isn't important anymore. _

_He stands up and walks to her. Without a single word he throws his arms around her and holds her close. She doesn't embrace him. Instead she drops her arms stiffly to her side. Her pale face lacks all expression; her eyes have lost their childish innocence. It troubles him. This isn't his daughter anymore. This is a stranger. _

* * *

His face darkens. Even now the memories still trouble him. She didn't react to anything he said. She just sat there, staring into space. Her eyes were wide open, but he doubted whether she saw anything. He couldn't get through to her. Not on the day his wife died, and not in the days following. Then came the funeral.

* * *

_After the solemn funeral everyone leaves the graveyard. One by one, until he's alone with his daughter. He takes her small hand in his and squeezes it. His hand is warm, a little clammy even, hers is icy-cold. It sends a shiver down his spine. He tries to talk to her, but again she doesn't react. It almost seems as if she doesn't even hear him. With hollow eyes and a sharp twist to her mouth she looks straight ahead. He does not know what to say or do. He can't seem to find the words. He never does. _

* * *

He knows that people often think that he's a cold and insensitive man, and maybe they're right, maybe he is, but not when it concerns his daughter. She has become his life. She gets to see the part he hides from others. He can't be cold and insensitive to her. Especially not now. She's all he has left now. His own grief is of no importance. There's no time or room for it. He has to be there for her.

All of his attention is focused on her. She is important, more important even than his work. For all these years his work was all he could think off, until she was born. The emotions she brings about in him are overwhelming and frightening at the same time. The feelings are so strong that for once in his life he can't hide them or lock them away. Although she probably doesn't even know it, he loves her so much – he has never loved anyone that much – and it breaks his heart to see her like this. Every day her small, pale face becomes smaller and her eyes bigger. She doesn't want to eat; she doesn't want to talk. All she does is sleep, huddling herself into fetus position the same way victims always do. She can't get any rest though, because the same night her mother died the nightmares began.

* * *

_He can't sleep. Disturbing thoughts and memories keep his sleepy mind awake while his body is screaming for rest. He doesn't want to go to sleep though. Some people say that the morning is the hardest part of the day, but for him it's the night. Not because of his dreams – they're so lifelike that they almost seem real and he takes comfort from it – but because he always wakes up from them in the middle of the night only to find himself in a live with shattered dreams. _

_With a deep sigh he stands up and walks over to his daughter's bedroom. It has become a routine. He checks up on her every night, just to make sure that she's still in her bed, that he hasn't lost her as well. His daughter, his little girl._

_He stands in the doorway, staring at her. She's restless in her sleep, making convulsive moves with her arms and legs. Uttered smothered cries betray a horrible nightmare. Her lips move and she mumbles the words he doesn't want to hear. A chill makes its way through his entire body as if an icy-cold hand clasps his heart. _

_'No… No, don't shoot. Please, not my mommy. Noooo!'_

_She jerks up in her bed, straight into his arms. He can only hold her close and stroke her sweaty back and trembling body. He tries to soothe her, but there's nothing he can say. He can't tell her that it was just a dream, or rather said a nightmare. He can't say that everything will stay the way it was, that everything will be all right. He can't, because he is not so certain that everything is going to be all right. She's so upset, so frightened by what she has seen and experienced. _

_He has tried several times to make her talk about what happened in the supermarket, but every time he comes too close, she withdraws into herself. She doesn't want to let him in or let him help her. Just as secretive as he was and still is, so secretive is she as well. Like father, like daughter. For the first time he can understand how frustrating that must have been to others, to her. _

* * *

He is so deep in thoughts that he doesn't notice the little girl entering the graveyard. He startles when he hears the sound of someone approaching on the shingle and immediately he hides behind a tree. It is she. He's certain of it. He knew she was coming. He witnessed her struggle that morning, and when she told him she was probably coming home later, he knew what was going on. And so he waited for her after he visited his wife's grave.

His daughter walks straight to the grave. She kneels down next to it. In her hands she's holding a bouquet of wild flowers. He watches as she arranges her flowers on the grave. He's glad that she has come. Maybe now she will be able to accept it. Maybe seeing the grave will help her in a way he couldn't.

And she does, only not in the way he hoped for. Instead of silently accepting it, maybe with some tears, she suddenly starts to moan, rocking herself back and forth. Then it happens. The moment he will never forget, the moment that will probably always haunt him in his nightmares.

He freezes when she lets out a cry. It's rough, sounding like an animal in terror. It's so heartrending, filled with so much pain, that it makes his skin crawl. The blood drains from his face. His mouth becomes dry, shivers run down his spine and he takes in shuddering gulps of breath.

"No," he murmurs shakily.

Tears appear in his eyes. He lets them run unashamedly over his cheeks. He doesn't care. Everyone may see him cry, although it's probably something most people would be shocked to see. No one has ever seen him cry. He can't even remember the last time he cried. However, this is his daughter. He cries for her, for her pain. The same pain he himself knows so well.

He clenches his fists, trying to breathe more slowly and restrain himself. He swallows hard, in an attempt to get rid of the knot in his chest, as he observes the scene before him. He's taken aback. He didn't expect this, didn't expect to see her like this. He wants to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her close, but he can't. He stands rooted to the spot, and he has to watch how his daughter goes through the same phases as he went through before.

His throat tightens. It takes him all of his strength not to interfere with her mourning process. It is her fight, not his. She has to come in terms with what happened. She has to realize that her mother is really gone. She has to embrace her sadness, and give it a place in her heart. She has to cherish the memories instead of pushing them away.

She has to do all that, and he can't be a part of it. But that doesn't mean that it's easy for him to stand around watching how his daughter tells God that she hates Him, throws away her things and then falls on the ground, curling herself up like a kitten.

It starts to drizzle. The wind is rising again, resumes his game with the leaves. They blow over the tiny body of the girl on the ground. The wind covers her with leaves, while the rain soaks her clothes.

He looks at his watch. It is time.

* * *

**To Be Continued…**

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I hope you liked this story. Please write a review to let me know what you think of it and if you would like to read the final part. Thank you! - Karin -

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	3. Our loss

Again, English is not my native/first language. If you find an annoying writing error in this story, please email me (instead of mentioning it in a review) and I will correct it immediately.

**Author's note:** Thank you all so much for the reviews. It means a lot to me. Now for the 3rd and final part…

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**When the Voice is Quiet**

By Karin

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The man kneels down next to his daughter. She's lying huddled up on the grave, her cheek against the cold gravestone. His heart breaks at the sight of her. She looks so fragile, so incredibly vulnerable.

"Sweetie?" he asks huskily. His hand tenderly caresses her long brown hair. "We have to go now." He brushes away a few strings that have fallen before her face. His touch is careful as if she's a precious piece of china and he's afraid of breaking her.

She doesn't move. She's fast asleep. For the first time in a week she looks almost peaceful. No mumbling in her sleep, no sleepwalking, no nightmares. No, she is totally relaxed. Tears still cling to her eyelashes. Her little nose is swollen and red from crying.

She looks so sweet and relaxed that he hates himself for waking her up, for tearing her away, but he has no choice. He can't let her stay here, not with her wet clothes and the cold ground she's lying on. He's afraid that she will get pneumonia and he can't risk that. He can't risk losing the only person he has left in his life. He would give his life to protect her, to keep her safe.

"Darling, it's dark. It's time to go home now."

This time he softly shakes her. He doesn't want to startle her, but the darker getting sky concerns him. All of a sudden a deafening roll of thunder sounds directly overhead them, preceding a flash of lightning that splits the sky. The sound has the effect he tried to avoid. She wakes up with a start.

For a few seconds she has trouble focussing, no idea where she is. Her surroundings are unfamiliar, her 'bed' hard, wet and filthy. Then her gaze locks onto the person sitting next to her and recognition appears in her red-rimmed, watery eyes.

"Daddy?" she asks unsteadily, blinking rapidly to get his blurred image clear. She rubs her eyes with her fists like a little child. Her small pretty face is stained with tears and mud.

"I'm here." He smiles reassuringly. "I'm with you."

She looks away from him and stares over the endless graveyard. There are so many of them. So many white gravestones, so many deaths and so many sad relatives. She has become one of them. She belongs to the group now who will come here to mourn over their loved ones.

Then she looks up to the sky. It's pitch-dark and it has started to rain. Her soaked clothes stick to her body; her heavy hair is hanging in her eyes. She feels miserable, cold and wet. An undeniable longing rises in her. She tries to ignore it, but it's stronger than she is. Her whole body is telling her to go home, to go to the one place she feels safe.

The past week she did extra tasks on school just to avoid going home. Everything reminded her of her mother. The photo's taken at their last trip to the zoo – her father could hardly be dragged away from the enormous ant farm – the forensic magazines on the table, the comb with the three brown hairs and the casual clothes her mother loved to wear, that are now scattered over the bedroom. Everything reminded her of what was no longer with her. Not only her mother, but the loving atmosphere that used to fill their house was gone as well. It didn't even feel like her house anymore. Everything suddenly turned so cold and awkward. With her mother passing away, the house lost its charm and a veil of sadness covered their once so happy, carefree lives.

But now the thought of going home does seem very appealing to her. She wants to lie in her own warm bed with her father by her side, telling her stories, reassuring her that everything will be all right. And maybe, just maybe they will be able to talk about her mother and about what happened to her. She needs to talk about it in order to deal with it.

"Daddy?" Her bottom lip starts to quiver again. "I want to go home."

He sees the tears that threaten in her eyes, and quickly digs up a tissue. Gently he wipes away the tears and most of the dirt. "I know." His hands keep lingering on her cheek. Her skin is still warm and flushed. "We will go home now."

She lets him pull her up. Still holding hands, they both turn to the grave. They have their own thoughts, their own emotions, but the same sorrow. Sorrow for the woman they have lost and will never get back. Sorrow for the times they spent together, but that are now forever gone. Sorrow for the memories that will haunt them on special occasions, such as birthdays and Christmas, every year.

Their sorrow is the same. It unites them as they stare at the grave of the woman they both love so dearly. Their fingers are intertwined; their bodies close to one another.

After a few minutes of standing in silence and reminiscing, she hesitantly pulls his sleeve. "Daddy, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he squeezes her hand. "What do you want to ask?"

"Do you miss mommy?"

He gulps and for a moment he's caught off guard by her question. He swallows hard, trying to push back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. Pain and sadness for his loss and the immense hatred towards the man responsible for their suffering, the same man who is still on the run. There were times the hatred almost consumed him, and if it weren't for his daughter it probably would have. But when he looks into her eyes he knows that he can't give into those destructive feelings. It's not good for her – he's of no use to her like that – and she is all that matters now.

With a serious expression in his eyes he cups her chin and looks her straight in her big brown eyes. "I miss her with all my heart, honey."

He wraps his arms around her small body and holds her close. It feels good yet unfamiliar. They never were very affectionate, probably because of his own reservations. He can count the times he cuddled her on two hands. But now he feels the desire to hold her forever. It comforts him and he hopes that it's comforting for her as well, that maybe she can draw strength from it.

He tightens his arms around her when he feels her shiver and with his chin on her soft hair, he whispers again: "With all my heart."

A single, silent tear runs down his cheek. Yes, he misses her. He will always miss her. She was the one who taught him to love. With her compassion and particularly her patience she helped him to open up, to let her into his life. No one was able to do that before. She was the first woman he didn't scare off.

He tried of course, but she was persistent. She taught him that there was nothing wrong in sharing events and feelings with someone else. She showed him there was more than just work, more than the corpses in the mortuary waiting for him to listen to their stories and find the one responsible for their suffering. For all those years the victims were his life. His work was all he could think of, until she showed up.

And he gave her a hard time. He pushed her away when she tried to come closer and he hurt her. He hurt her many times with his indifference. The thought of that still breaks his heart, because he never meant to do her harm. He hurt her because he wanted to protect himself from getting hurt. He was so afraid of opening up, of being vulnerable. Then again, so was she.

They both had a difficult past, a past that mold them. So many secrets, so much pain and hurt. But together they talked about it, and gave it a special place. They would never forget, they could never forgive, but together they could at least handle it.

Together. He can still remember the day that changed everything.

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_"I'm leaving."_

_His eyes widen, bewilderment clearly written in them. He expected everything but this. When she told him she wanted to talk to him in private he thought that maybe she was ill or maybe she needed a few days off to set things straight. But this…_

_"You're leaving," he repeats, hoping that he misheard her. "You mean a leave of absence?" Trying to dismiss the real meaning of her words and the determination in her voice, he starts to shuffle his papers, searching for the right form. "You can take a few days off, or more if you need that."_

_She shakes her head gloomily. "Just listen to me for once. I'm leaving, really leaving. For good. I've been offered a job in Chicago. I won't be coming back."_

_He freezes as the words finally get through to him. His face doesn't display any emotion though. It's almost as if her comment didn't even affect him. However, she doesn't know that his appearance is far removed from the truth. Her announcement has actually evoked many feelings in him, both confusing and unfamiliar. He's startled and shocked, but like always he doesn't show it. He can't, not even now._

_As he softly closes the drawer, he asks in a neutral voice: "Why?"_

_She turns around, avoiding his questioning eyes. She doesn't want to see his hurt and disappointment in her, or the lack of it. It would only make it more difficult than it already is._

_"I can't work with you any longer." She raises her arms in a helpless gesture. "You're not that blind. Even you have to admit that this doesn't work."_

_"What doesn't work?" His voice betrayed his confusion. Deep down inside he already knows the answer, but he needs to hear it from her._

_His ignorance, his inability to see what drives her to resign, only proves her that she's doing the right thing. She sighs impatiently. "You. Me. Us. I can't take it anymore. We twirl around each other, but we never get anywhere. I don't know what you want from me. All I know is that this has taken too long. We have to stop it now. There's nothing left for me here."_

_He takes off his glasses. His mind is working overtime to come up with a satisfactory response, a response that will make her change her mind. "You have your work here, your friends. Everyone would miss you."_

_She snorts. "Everyone? Who is everyone? Why do you always talk about everyone else except you? Is it so hard for you to admit that you would miss me too?" Frustration lashes bitterly in her words. She knows that she's revealing more of herself than she intended to, but she can't stop the words from gushing from her lips. "Can't you see what's going on? I can't be around you any longer. I want more than you can obviously give me. That's why I have to leave."_

_He remains silent, listening to her words and studying every move of her body. She is serious. He can tell by the way her face sets. This isn't a threat anymore – not some desperate attempt to get his attention – she is deadly serious. And if he doesn't do anything soon, she will go away._

_He's about to lose her. It's as simple as that. He knows that he has to make a decision that will change his life entirely. He hesitates, not sure what to do, weighing the pros and cons. On the one hand he's angry with her for making him choose, but on the other hand he can understand her despair. However, that doesn't make it any easier for him. He has to choose between a life that's simple and secure – the life he's so used to that he doesn't know if he wants to give it up – and a life full of insecurities with her._

_For a few seconds the room is veiled in silence, and for her that's just a second too long. "That's what I thought," she says defeatedly. "I will send you my resignation with the mail." She puts down her gun and her pass on his desk. "Goodbye."_

_Just when she is about to leave his office, and step out of his life, something snaps in him. And for once in his life he lets his feelings take over, deciding not to take the easy way out or choose what's safe. Instead he stands up and says the words he thought he would never say again, the same words he swore he would never use out of self-protection. _

_"Don't leave." _

_His voice is soft, barely a whisper, but she hears it nevertheless. Her hand keeps lingering on the doorknob. Then slowly she turns around – hesitant almost as if she doubts whether she heard him right – to glare at him with her arms folded across her chest. She gasps in surprise as she finds him standing right behind her, only inches from her._

_When she sees the panic written all over his face for saying those words and the warmth in his blue eyes, she doesn't need to ask him if he really meant it. He doesn't have to say anything; she already knows the answer. A sigh of relief escapes her lips and she conjures up a trembling smile. She never wanted to leave; she just didn't know what else to do to make him understand. But he stopped her from doing the exact same thing. _

_"I don't want you to leave," he says again, this time with more conviction. "I want you to stay."_

_In a sudden impulse he caresses her cheek, briefly just like she did some time ago. Back then it was only dust, but now it's something more, much more. And when he takes her into his arms, he knows that he has made the right choice, one he will never regret._

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A melancholy smile curls upon his lips as the memories come flooding back. He knows that he wasn't an easy man to fall in love with. He bottled and still bottles up everything. Every emotion, every problem. Maybe in that way his daughter is just like him. His little girl. The most wonderful gift, the greatest of all, she has given him. The one he's holding in his arms right now.

He was shocked when she told him she was pregnant. The look on her face was a mixture of happiness, anticipation and even a spark of fear, probably for his reaction. But all he could do was stare at her, unable to utter a single word. For once he didn't know what to say. He never thought of himself as a father. To be quite honest, the whole idea scared the hell out of him. He didn't know whether to be delighted or to run away as fast as he could. It was only his fear speaking of course. He was afraid of becoming a father, afraid of making mistakes.

But when he held that tiny little person in his arms all of his doubts disappeared into thin air. His own flesh and blood was the one who changed him the most. Her charming smile, her beautiful big eyes, the cute little bubbles she blew and her unconditional love, crumbled the wall he built around him so many years ago, the same wall of which his wife already took away a few stones.

They raised her together, each an equal part in her upbringing. He taught her to be curious and to be well read. They read almost every book in the library together and soon she knew them by heart. Now she can even quote Shakespeare, Lord Byron and all those other writers and poets he admires. It makes him so proud of her. His wife only laughed when she saw the two of them being totally wrapped up in a book or solving crossword puzzles. She taught her daughter to be caring and passionate about people…and animals of course. A good combination. Now it is all up to him to raise their daughter.

They keep on standing there for what seems like hours, both in the comforting arms of the other. Then he slowly breaks away from his daughter and looks at her. He's struck by the resemblance. Her face is almost an exact copy of her mother's. She has the same brown hair, the same broad smile and the same sparkle in those brown eyes. In that way she will always live on and she will always be close to him, not only in his heart, but also in everything he does because he knows that it's all thanks to her.

"Let's go, darling. We're going home."

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and gently guides her to the parking space. The girl looks round for one last time before stepping into the car. She knows that she will come back. Every day, and when she's older at least once a week. To tell her mother about her life, to look after the graveyard and to lay down new fresh flowers. In silence she makes that promise to her mother. It's a reassuring and consoling thought.

As the car drives off, the cemetery becomes smaller and smaller. She turns around to stare through the back window until the graves are nothing more than a white spot and then they're beyond her sight.

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The raven settles on the grave. It sees the man and the child leave the cemetery. It is happy that they're gone. Everything is quiet again, just the way it's supposed to be. The scream of the girl just now almost startled the bird to death. Normally the humans only cry. Sometimes they talk. It often wonders to whom they're talking, since there's no one there.

The bird hops on the pile of soil again. Everything is wet. The dirt clings to its paws, but the bird doesn't care. It holds his head slantingly and with curious and glinting eyes it looks at the gravestone. It can't read what it says, but it understands that it's the reason for the girl's scream. It's the reason for everyone's sadness. He doesn't know why. It's just a rock, the ideal place to sit on and observe the graveyard.

Losing interest the raven shakes the glistening raindrops from his shining, black wings. Then it flies away, looking for a good place to spend the night.

Now the graveyard is really deserted. And as the night is falling, the letters on the gravestone lighten.

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_Sara Grissom – Sidle_

_Beloved wife and mother_

_1971 – 2014_

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I hope you liked my story. You must be very angry with me now for killing off Sara, but take comfort in the fact that Grissom and Sara did get together and even had a daughter in my story. I know, little comfort. I just couldn't help myself. I'm so sorry, please forgive me!! : )

Please write a review to let me know what you think of this final (and devastating) part. Thank you!

- Karin -


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